


Congruence

by MyGrain



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:27:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyGrain/pseuds/MyGrain
Summary: It was the first thing Will asked his students, "What's your design?" before assigning them essays to elaborate.It was such an important question, especially since Will had spent such a long time finding his.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack watched as Will Graham taught his classroom. Watch, observe, see what buttons he could press to get the man to work for him. A year or so ago and it would have been infinitely easier. Hell, if Jack had the forethought to have Will on his team all those years ago, maybe Miriam Lass wouldn’t be...

There was no time for what ifs. Jack had an aim out of his conversation with Will Graham today, to get the man to agree to consulting on cases.

But Alana Bloom’s words kept circling in his head.

“ _I don’t know.” Alana mused. It was unusual for Jack to catch Dr Bloom in such a contemplative mood. Whenever he’d interacted with her, she’d been ready for a fight, rarely hesitating like this._

“ _I thought you might have some idea of whether Will would be open to working with us. You’re the person he’s closest to.” Alana was sure to be flattered by this and her denial or acceptance of the same would give Jack a clue. But she seemed to catch on to him and sniffed in disdain. “Or at least, you used to be.”_

“ _On campus, maybe, because I didn’t treat him like the others do but Will’s been doing much better lately.”_

“ _Is he getting help?” That would be unusual from what Jack knew of the man. Solitary and caustic, never allowing anyone to get close._

“ _If he is, it certainly isn’t anyone I referred him to.”_

“ _But you_ **_did_ ** _refer him to someone.”_

_Alana flushed, “He asked and I recommended a colleague, but he didn’t work out for him. But I guess taking the step of reaching out changed something.” She smiled, but it rang a bit false to Jack, “He’s been a lot more stable. He might even pass the screening process now, maybe become an agent.”_

_Jack knew Alana Bloom well. She was nice enough and much better than most of the psychologists he knew, but she had a thing for fixing people. Will, it seemed, had fixed himself._

_It might make it more difficult for Jack, perhaps he wouldn’t be as easy to convince as Jack thought he would. But there were lives on stake so Jack had to at least try._

Jack forced a smile on his face as he got closer to the podium. Couldn't afford to slip up now. “Mr Graham,” Will Graham paused for a second, putting his glasses on and discreetly looking away from Jack and he felt his confidence rise. “Special agent Jack Crawford, I head the Behavioral Science unit.”

“We’ve met.”

“Yes, we had a disagreement when we opened up the museum,” Jack had dismissed Will back then, just another academic who thought himself qualified to pass comments on the real work people did.

“I disagreed with what you named it.”

“The Evil Minds Research museum”

“It’s a little hammy Jack”

Jack didn't think it was hammy. He thought it got to the point. “I see you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching post, and I also understand it’s difficult for you to be social.”

“Well, I'm just talking at them, there’s nothing social about it.

“I see...may I” Jack gestured at the glasses hoping to test how far he could push Will but the younger man leaned as far away as he politely could.

“I’d rather you didn't.” Not far at all, and Jack tucked his hands away while Graham resumed packing his bags with a greater fervour. 

“Where do you fall on the spectrum?”

“That's a complicated thing to answer. Unless you’re willing to sit through a longer lecture on DSM V vs DSM IV and the changes in diagnostic criteria, I can only inform you that I do fall somewhere on the spectrum.”

“Closer to Aspergers than sociopaths and narcissists?”

“If by closer you mean my issues are more along the lines of being neuroatypical rather than personality pathologies then, yes.”

“But you can empathise with personality pathologies.”

Graham still wasn’t meeting his eyes but rolled them just the same. “Anyone with an overactive imagination can.”

“Can I borrow your imagination?” Graham sighed, an agreeing if distressed sound, and Jack suppressed the urge to smile in victory.

With Graham’s imagination they were certain to solve this case.

* * *

Will’s fingers, tucked into his pockets, grazed the fletching of the lure he had tucked in there. As he stared at the pictures of the wind-chafed, mall of America girls that had been ‘abducted’, he felt the fluffy texture ground him. Like quicksand holding him down even as his mind was stuffed into the killer’s headspace, the pendulum threatening to swing.

He’d talk about this to Dr Soumi over the weekend. The murders, Jack, and the fact that he called his grounding a quicksand. It wasn’t a good association to have made, although he was sure she’d be more concerned with the distress it caused him.

“All of them abducted on a Friday so they wouldn’t have to be reported missing until Monday. Now, however he’s covering his tracks, he needs a weekend to do it.”

“Number eight?”

“Elise Nichols, St. Cloud State on the Mississippi. Disappeared on Friday. Was supposed to house sit for her parents over the weekend, feed the cat. She never made it home.”

“Yeah, one through seven are dead, don’t you think? He’s not keeping them around. He got himself a new one.” 

“So we focus on Elise Nichols.”

“They’re all very, um Mall of America. That’s a lot of wind-chafed skin.”

“Same hair colour, same eye colour. Roughly the same age. Same height, same weight. So what is it about all of these girls?”

“It’s not about all of these girls. It’s just about one of them. He’s like Willy Wonka. Every girl he takes is a candy bar, and hidden in amongst all of those candy bars is the one true intended victim, which, if we follow through on our metaphor, is your golden ticket.”

“So, is he warming up for his golden ticket, or just reliving whatever it is he did to her?”

“The golden ticket wouldn’t be the first taken, and she wouldn’t be the last. He would, um, hide how special she was. I mean, I would. Wouldn’t you?” Absently, Will wondered what Jack’s design was. 

“I want you to get closer to this.”

Will toyed with the idea of recommending Heimlich or Alana but he could tell that Jack wasn’t going to take no for an answer and honestly, Will didn’t _want_ to say no. But he knew that this politeness and calm he was seeing from Jack wouldn’t last too long and thought it better to dangle him around a bit.

“That may require me to be sociable.” He said instead, after dragging the silence out longer. Eventually it got to Jack and he all but pleaded.

“You have a very specific way of thinking. Make jumps you can’t explain.”

“No, the evidence explains.”

“Then help me find the evidence.”

Jack was trying to hide it but even now Will could see the fleeting expressions on Jack’s face, hastily hidden to conceal a terrible frustration and anger. This veneer of civility Jack was putting on was already cracking and if Will was going to be sociable, he was damn well going to be compensated for it.

“Fine, I’ll talk to HR, have them send over a consulting contract to you. You have my contact details, let me know when you sign them.”

Without waiting for a reply, Will took off. He had a therapy appointment to schedule.

  
  


* * *

Elise Nichols’s poor parents were still holding out hope, but they didn’t have enough evidence to tell them that their hope was misplaced, so Jack stayed quiet, letting them talk. Will had turned away from the parents and studied the house instead, hands in pocket again, and Jack hoped the man was paying good attention to what Elise’s parents were saying. Her father explained that she was an introvert, didn’t like living in the dorms, would have been likely to take a train.

“She looks like the other girls.” Elise’s mother said. Unlike her husband she seemed like she had accepted that she wasn't likely to see her child alive again.

“She does fit the profile,” Will said suddenly, turning away from the wall with its photographs of the happy family. For someone who claimed socialising was difficult for him he was doing far better than Jack expected. His chin was tilted up, his eyes still flitting away from everyone’s but skittering close enough to give the illusion of eye contact. There was a strange birdlike mobility to his neck now, as he bobbed and turned it around to seem almost normal, his voice soft. And for Jack, who knew what Will’s normal was, it threw him off. “It’s why we’re being meticulous. If she took a train to come home, what would she have done, where would she have gone?”

“Nowhere. Her stomach was upset the last few weeks, stress of university she said. She’d probably just feed the cat, have a lie down.” The mother said.

“How’s the cat been?”

“I...I didn’t notice.” Elise’s father said while her mother wiped her face surreptitiously.

Will turned to look at Jack, a pained look on his face, and Jack made his excuses following Will into the hallway for a private chat. The second they were out of the Nichols’ earshot facing away from the couple, Will demeanour changed, becoming more himself. Jack hadn’t even noticed that he’d turned his lips up to look less sulky until he visibly saw them drop down again, the jitteriness return.

“He took her from here. She got on a train, she came home, she fed the cat. He _took_ her.” Will whispered.

Jack needed to move quickly. Already the Duluth police had been all over the property, let alone the parents, they needed to gather as much evidence as they could right away. “The Nichols’ house is a crime scene. I need ERT immediately. I want Zeller, Katz, and Jimmy Price. Yes, and a photographer.”

“Why is it now a crime scene?” Mr Nichols asked, plaintive

“May I see your daughter’s room?” Will asked instead and Mrs Nichols stepped up to guide Will away while Jack was left to deal with the distraught father.

“Mr Nichols we have reason to believe that your daughter was taken from here.”

“But the police have been in and out of here all day-”

“JACK!,” The near shout accompanied by the sound of sobbing had them rushing to where Mrs Nichols was crying, held loosely in the circle of Will’s arms and being visibly restrained from entering her daughter’s room.

And in there, on her bed as if tucked in for a good night’s sleep, lay Elise Nichols’ corpse.

  
  


* * *

_His hands were clamped tight around the girls’ throat, solid and stable. She was in shock, too much of it to try to get herself free, claw at his hands the way the others had. Tired, sleepy._

Wills hands grazed the fletching again.

_It tasted off. No anger, no passion, no joy. A near mechanicalness to the movements. The murders served a purpose, a purpose that felt broken, that couldn’t be completed because-_

“You’re Will Graham.” The voice broke him out of his state.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity. I found antler velvet in two of the wounds. You, uh, not real FBI?”

Her babble was rude. Inappropriate. But it made it easier for him to turn fully back into Will Graham, to focus on her words rather than on Elise and her murderer.

“I’m a special investigator.”

“Never been an FBI agent?”

Not yet, but it was something Will was working towards. The screening procedures detected instability and Will had been feeling more and more stable in the last year. Had grown to have ambitions. One of which was to be an FBI agent.

With a loud stomping of feet, even more people burst into the room, Jack and others. They started discussing the body so Will turned away. He should have paid attention, but for now he ignored them.

Antler velvet she’d said.

“Antler velvet is rich in nutrients. It actually promotes healing. He may have put it in there on purpose.”

“You think he was trying to heal her?”

“He wanted to undo as much as he could given that he’d already killed her.”

“He put her back where he found her.”

“Whatever he did to the others, he couldn’t do it to her.”

“Is this his golden ticket?”

“No,” Will knew she wasn’t the golden ticket, there would have been more feeling when the pendulum swung if it was, not that cold unfeeling, barely there fondness and grief. “This is an apology."

  
  


* * *

The invasion of the privacy of a washroom, the looming, the pushing, the yelling, that didn’t phase Will. Jack was under pressure and the media had gotten a hold of a picture of the one corpse they had found, Will could see it simmering under the surface and understood.

But when Jack talked of saliva, semen, and virginity when Will was talking about _love_ and _honour_ , it boiled his blood, made him angry beyond all belief. His mind flashed back to his nightmare, of Elise Nichols being lifted off the bed, elevated, apologised to, and is disgusted at Jack.

“That’s not how he’s loving them, he wouldn’t disrespect them that way! He doesn’t want these girls to suffer. He kills them quickly and to his thinking, with mercy. “

Jack quieted. “Sensitive psychopath. Risked getting caught so he could tuck Elise Nichols back into bed.”

“He has to take the next girl soon ’cause he knows he’s gonna get caught. One way or the other.” 

Later that day in the lab, with Katz, Zeller and Price surrounding the body, he let the pendulum swing again, knowing what he knew now. That the killer loved her, for some token value of love. That he was taking her for a reason, couldn’t do what he did with the others for a reason.

She wasn’t lying down this time, was upright. The bloody stains on her nightgown had bloomed red and he saw her go away from him, back, back, until antlers came out of her body and she swung on them

“She was mounted on them. Like hooks. She may have been bled.”

“Her liver was removed.”

“See that? He took it out, and then – yep, he put it back in.”

“Huh.”

“Why would he cut it out if he’s just gonna sew it back in again?”

She was probably bled, bled just like the deer whose antlers she’d been mounted on would have been.

“Something wrong with the meat?” 

“She has liver cancer.”

Now it made sense. Why he put her back, why she was the only one found. 

“He’s eating them.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hannibal’s person suit was having to work hard to keep him in. As Franklyn droned on and on about his neurotic nature, whining, Hannibal returned to his mind palace where he planned exactly how he would kill Franklyn. 

He wouldn’t make a display of the man though, nor eat him. It seemed a waste but the man had annoyed him enough that he was certain he would taste his own displeasure in the meat. Franklyn would probably never be anything but grateful to be given attention no matter its form, but Hannibal’s disdain for the man, stronger than what he usually feels for the rude, would taint it. And then it got worse. Franklyn, blowing his nose into the tissue Hannibal handed him only to put it down on the table next to him.

Hannibal wanted to wring his neck.

But he didn’t. Patience was a thing he had learnt well and he practised it. There were twenty one minutes left on the clock and he would wait. 

But the wait was excruciating enough that he had to ask Jack Crawford to wait. IT wouldn’t endear him to Jack Crawford perhaps but it would be a lot worse if he slipped up and let him see behind his person suit.

Crawford was rude. He’d expected it, Alana complained about the man enough but for him to walk in, prowl the space as if he owned it, it was incredibly impolite. Hannibal wondered absently if this was about Miriam Lass. The thought intensified as Jack perused his drawings, and Hannibal picked up his scalpel, ready to strike if need be.

But, Jack faffed about, buttering him up fairly clearly, claiming to be a layman in his presence before getting quickly to the crux of the matter. 

“I need you to help me with a psychological profile. “

And that was when the fun began.

  
  


* * *

Hannibal’s first impression of Will Graham was of the loveliness of him. The outside, as if carved by Michelangelo, the inside teeming with darkness, filled nearly to the brim, almost overflowing. Spitting out his disdain for Freddie Lounds’ website, all but snarling like a cornered animal. Tasteless, he called it. On the contrary, this sort of indelicate vulgarity had quite a taste to it, an unpleasant one. It left something to be desired and Hannibal tended to slow smoke the meat of such pigs to mask it.

But the annoyance that Will was experiencing, how _lovely_ had such a lovely bouquet to it, a pepperiness. And the curiosity bloomed in Hannibal’s mind, what would it take to break him, break the facade and let the darkness out? Was it the murderers whose minds he inhabited? Or perhaps he’d have to be pushed and prodded to bring it out, perhaps see through the mind of a particular type of killer. 

How did Will see the Chesapeake Ripper?

Absently, they made small talk about associations and forts, Will clearly still under the false impression that Hannibal was a colleague of Jack’s in some capacity, there to discuss an interesting case. Jack allowed him to operate under this misconception and Hannibal felt the need to make clear why he was there, for Will, not for some paltry killer like the one they were chasing.

“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

“Whose profile are you working on? Whose profile is he working on?” How curious. There was anger there, of course, but it wasn’t for himself, no. Will was angry on someone else’s behalf, the thought of being studied wasn’t truly what was bothering him. But everything he had heard from Alana and Jack contradicted that, they insisted that he didn’t like to be scrutinised, especially by a mental health professional. No, something else was troubling dear Will.

“I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.”

“Please, don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

Jack interrupted their little tête-à-tête with a warning to his voice, “Will.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalyzing.” Will smiled, a quick thing, with many teeth but so well crafted that were it not for the fact that Hannibal had sat in the room with him as he lost his temper, he would have wholeheartedly believed it to be genuine.

What a lovely skill.

“Maybe we shouldn’t poke him like that, Doctor. Perhaps a less, uh, direct approach.”

“What he has is pure empathy. He can assume your point of view, or mine, and maybe some other points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Jack.” Jack hmmed, and Hannibal began to plan. He had an idea of how the killer was choosing his victims and knew where to find one that he’d probably come across. The rude barista in the cafe on the way to Georgetown “Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends. This cannibal you have him getting to know, I think I can help good Will see his face.” 

* * *

Killing Cassie Boyle had been too easy to be fun the way his usual kills were. He was on something of a deadline before the real killer exposed himself anyway and the real game came later when Will would see her. An unusual kill for him but one he enjoyed nonetheless.

And as if the stars had aligned for him, Jack called, asking Hannibal to accompany Will as he went about the investigation, worried about his fragile china cup.

“ _Will thinks it’s a copycat. Called it field kabuki before taking off, I need him on this and I need him to have his head on straight.”_

Field kabuki, how strangely appropriate. A theatrical and glamorous performance, very much unlike the real killer, or as the media had taken to calling him, the Minnesota Shrike’s adoration. 

Will is pleasant as they share breakfast, infinitely more so than in Jack’s office. Defensive but in the way one is when confronted with a stranger, cautious not paranoid. Tells him to be professional, but calls his food delicious, laughs freely when Hannibal tells him that Jack sees him as a special china teacup, asks him what Hannibal sees him as with genuine curiosity. It was a true pleasure to see him in that state, and as they set up to go to all the construction sites, Hannibal carries that same sentiment forward, using the enclosed space of the car as his ‘office’.

“You were upset back in Jack’s office.”

“Yeah well, Jack’s office does that to me. He can be a rude pig at times,” Hannibal shifts in his seat to hide his pleasure at hearing Will talk of people like that, but Will must interpret it as uneasiness instead. “Sometimes I wonder how he became the head of the BSU given the truckload of things he doesn’t observe.”

“Indeed?”

“If he had just talked to HR at the university he would know that I already have a therapist, one that had to jump through a great deal of hoops to get clearance for our sessions. It’s unprofessional to leave her out of the conversation like that.”

Disappointment flooded through him as Hannibal saw his plans fall through. No matter, he would simply build new ones. There were many ways to manipulate a person. “I didn’t realise I wasn’t needed. I apologise, Will.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t needed, she doesn’t do psych evals and the FBI requires a regular one for fieldwork. ”Hannibal couldn’t help the smile. Getting this insight into the inner workings of the very institution that was hunting his alter ego was fun and Will noticed his glee. “What are you smiling at?”

“Peeking behind the curtain. I’m just curious how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors.”

“I’m not that familiar with the behind the curtain business of the FBI either, not an agent remember, a _teacher_.” Hannibal could almost taste the bitterness in that statement on his tongue, like burnt milk. “The only experience I have in the field is as a field detective in New Orleans. Frankly, you’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews. We found a little piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes, a shred from a pipe threader so we’re off to a construction site.”

“There must be hundreds of construction sites all over Minnesota.”

“A certain kind of metal, certain kind of pipe, certain kind of pipe coating, so we’re checking all the construction sites that use that kind of pipe.”

“What are we looking for?”

“At this stage, anything really. But mostly, anything...peculiar.”

It took little more than a few minutes for Will to hone in on the killer, Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Will saw it in the inconsistency, in the lack of an address, the work days he’d missed.

Hannibal smelt it on the paper of the letter, in the ink made from human bone ash, the very paper perfumed with the smell of a kitchen that cooked human meat. The courtesy call he made should have done its job and gotten Hobbs’ hackles up. Hannibal wondered what Will would look like covered in blood and turned the slightest hare away from Will’s face to imagine it.

“Jack’s not picking up the phone.” Will worried as the phone, on speaker, went to voicemail.

“Depositions probably don’t allow for that.”

With a twitch to his mouth, Will punched another number into the phone.

“Katz,”

_“Graham?”_

“I’ve got a possible suspect, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and I can’t reach Jack. He’s missed work on the same Fridays and weekends the girls would have been taken and he has a daughter, old enough to drive a car, I couldn’t get a proper description of her. We’re on our way to their house right now, ETA 10 minutes, I’ll have Hannibal message the address to you.”

_“Wait, I might have something...Yeah, he has a daughter, same as the other girls, senior in high school.”_

“That’ll be the so called golden ticket, yes?” Hannibal observed and Will concurred before cutting the call as they drew closer to the house. “May I ask what you’re doing?” Hannibal couldn’t help but ask as Will didn’t take the turn to the Hobbs house, parking it a little ahead of it instead.

“Don’t want to spook him.” With that simple statement, Will got out of the car, pulled a jacket over, checking to see that his holster was hidden and walked on very quiet feet to the house, Hannibal close behind. They were just about to walk onto the porch when a young girl— wind chafed, plain but pretty, very mall of America—came flying out, passing by them and collapsing onto the grass outside. She was clutching her neck where a cut marred it, a cursory glance enough for Hannibal to know it had missed all the major blood vessels and she wouldn’t die of it, when suddenly a gunshot rang out. Will sprang into action, running into the house and soon there was another gunshot, this one followed by a loaded stillness.

Hannibal walked in, passing by a blonde woman with a gun in one trembling hand, blood running down the other side with a shoulder that still had a knife embedded in it, shaking and crying all at once.

Then there was Will, gun holding hand lowered to his side, looming over the body of presumably Garrett Jacob Hobbs, one gunshot wound in his side, another in between his brows. He turned and Hannibal was struck by the sight, the barest hint of a splatter on his face that was near pristine otherwise. He could walk out of there right then and no one would think he had just killed a man.

How beautiful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Will was annoyed. Shooting Garrett Jacob Hobbs had been vile and left a terrible taste in his mouth. He needed to wash it out._

_It had been so dull, so clinical. A shot to the head, nothing more, no explication of intent, no torture. He didn’t even know that he had failed in his attempt to kill his daughter, Abigail Hobbs would be scarred and spend a few months not being able to move her neck, perhaps not be able to talk as she could before, but he’d missed every artery and she would live._

_How_ **_boring_ ** _._

_Yes, Will needed to wash out that horrible taste._

_So he found his victim, a man not unlike Hobbs. He had two children, a boy and a girl and he didn’t know how to love them right either, just like Hobbs. When Will abducted him he’d been reading TattleCrime’s newest article on Hobbs. Will let the pendulum swing and saw the man’s growing excitement as he was inspired to do what Hobbs did. Damned plagiarist._

_With a scoff, Will put the restraints on the man and prepared the tarp, testing the sharpness of his blade, arranging his tools, counting the multiple lengths of wires one last time. Everything was ready._

_This was his design._

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

~~~~~~

Murdering that man had exorcised Will of the ghost of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, no longer was he one of the voices in his head. Will didn’t have the rancid feel of the man’s ‘love’ tainting him anymore, more assured than ever of his own self and his design.

Hobbs was a serial killer only in its basest sense, that he killed more than a few people and had a pattern. He didn’t have any trophies, any displays, even with the deer he hunted he had their antlers. He consumed the girls completely, more completely than he’d done any of his usual kills and that made them feel lesser somehow. But they  _ had  _ been lesser to him, Abigail was always going to be the only one of his victims he would have kept a souvenir from.

But the copycat, now  _ there  _ was a serial killer with some imagination. He would make sure to give him—male, probably a surgeon, saw the girls as pigs, that was all Will had on him right now—his due appreciation, dedicate some time to him in the upcoming lecture.

“We’re here.” Jack’s knock jolted him out of his thoughts and they made their way into Hobbs’ hunting cabin, the walls covered in antlers. It was entirely expected and entirely  _ tasteless _ .

“Could be a permanent installation in your Evil Minds museum.” The museum, its name and this cabin, they were all exactly the same type of cliché.

“Well, what we learn about Garrett Jacob Hobbs will help us catch the next one like him. There’s still seven bodies unaccounted for.”

"Yeah, well, he _was_ eating them.”

“Had to be some parts he wasn’t eating.”

"Not necessarily.”

"All right, what if Hobbs wasn’t eating alone? It’s a lot of work. Disappearing these girls, butchering them, and then not leaving a shred of anything other than what’s in this room.”

"Someone he hunted with.”

"Someone whose mother is keeping her from us, who also happened to be someone he hunted with.”

“You think Abigail Hobbs helped her father?” She could have. Would have been an easy way to keep herself alive, knowing that if he hadn’t hunted for another girl in a while she would have to be more wary.

“We’ve been conducting house-to-house interviews at the Hobbs residence, and uh, at this property also. Hobbs spent a lot of time here, spent a lot of time with his daughter here. She would make the ideal bait, wouldn’t she?”

“Bait doesn’t need to know that it’s bait. Unless she’s heard from his mouth that he killed those girls or caught him in the act, she can only be considered unwittingly complicit at best. If you’re looking for a scapegoat—” A glint of something red and shiny in the light of flashlight caught his eye and Will knelt, “You’ve got other problems, someone else was here.”

And Will could take a guess who it was.

* * *

Will walked into the lecture hall to a thunderous applause. Frustrated, he cut it short within seconds. Hobbs’ death was not one he wanted applause for, it was a mistake. His real tableau was probably a good week from discovery, just the way he’d planned it, but he knew that wouldn’t garner applause from this audience.

“This is how I caught Garrett Jacob Hobbs. It’s his resignation letter. Does anybody see the clue?” The class shifted, uneasy, a few of them raising their hands. “There isn’t one. He wrote a letter, he left a phone number, no address. That’s it. Bad bookkeeping and dumb luck. Garrett Jacob Hobbs is dead. The question now is how to stop those his story is going to inspire. One of whom is supposed to be this,” He shifted the slide to the beautiful piece in the field, “The one called the Copycat. But that would be a misnomer, because  _ this _ is the Minnesota Shrike.”

“Over the course of your career, you will find media dictating the public perception of the cases but also your own. Undoubtedly you think of Garrett Jacob Hobbs as the Minnesota Shrike even though it was this display in the field that earned our killer the name. Garrett Jacob Hobbs has left us three victims to study, one the corpse of Elise Nichols, the other two his family members who are both suffering intensive injuries. The corpse of Elise Nichols was made available to us due to an illness she suffered that rendered her an imperfect subject for what he intended. He hung her on antlers using them as hooks to bleed her, like a butcher. He returned her whole albeit dead, tucked her into her bed adding antler velvet to her wounds as a symbol of healing. She was in the same clothes she had on when he had taken her. Cassie Boyle, the body in the field, was in perfect health. She was made into a display, stripped, her lungs taken from her when she was still alive, mounted on a stolen deer head. Had she truly been a victim of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, she would be like the others preceding Elise Nichols, nowhere to be found because he would have ‘honoured’ his kill by consuming it. This so called copycat copied  _ nothing _ .”

After that, the class continued as normal, Will played gruesome slides and talked over them, drawing to an end quickly. The routine of it was interrupted when Jack strode into the classroom as if he owned it, following Alana’s pleasant attempt at warning him about the ambush. Will would have to learn that, it was sure to come in handy at some point. For now, hiding in the shadows, curled up into the appearance of a target would do for him.

“How was class.”

“Um, they applauded. It was inappropriate.”

“Well, the review board would beg to differ. You’re up for a commendation. And they’ve, uh, okayed active return to the field.”

A commendation, exactly what he was looking for. Enough of those and he would skate by the screening procedure even if he showed only the bare minimum of stability.

“The question is, do you want to go back to the field?” Alana never seemed to understand exactly how patronising her ‘handling’ of Will was, made worse by how much credence Jack gave to her word over Will’s. Like she was his mother and Jack his father, humouring her worries while running roughshod over Will.

Jack glared at Alana, “I want him back in the field.” And if they’d only been willing to listen instead of treating him like a child they would have heard him say clearly that he wanted to be back in the field. “And I’ve told the board I’m recommending a psych eval.”

“Are we starting now?” Will couldn’t help but throw a look at Alana.

“Oh, the session wouldn’t be with me.”

“Hannibal Lecter’s a better fit. Your relationship isn’t personal. But if you are more comfortable with Dr. Bloom–”

“No, I’m not going to be comfortable with anybody inside my head. But I must say I’m surprised, didn't realise our relationship was personal, I’m fairly certain I’ve never even been in a room with you alone.” Alana’s pleasant expression froze but she pushed through.

“You’ve never killed anyone before, Will. It’s a deadly force encounter. It’s a lot to digest.” The laughter threatening to bubble out of his throat had him turning away, pretending to root around the podium.

“I used to work Homicide.” Will had to try hard to keep the smile off his face and out of his voice.

“The reason you currently used to work Homicide is because you didn’t have the stomach for pulling the trigger. You just pulled the trigger!”

“You don’t need to commit homicide to work homicide Jack, and if it did, I would wonder what it implies about your status as head of the BSU.” Without waiting for an answer, Will turned and made the move to leave throwing a few last words over his shoulder. “Once you schedule the eval, let me know.”

The depth in that sigh of relief Jack let out was more than a little insulting. But now Will had to plan the best way to convince Hannibal Lecter to sign him off for active duty.

* * *

Will was a lightning storm as he came into Hannibal’s office on the eve of his evaluation, his facade still the strange calm Alana had claimed him to be when talking to Hannibal but he could tell it hid a hint of frustration. The niceties and introductions done, he climbed the stairs up to the second level of Hannibal’s office, browsing the books, twisting to look down every so often.

“Inspecting my office?” Hannibal asked even as he signed the paper he had prepared earlier, certifying Will as sound of mind.

“It’s not like the others I’ve seen.”

“Oh?”

“Alana tries not to be in a room alone with me but her space is smaller, more certificates on the walls, cool tones, a lot like this but on a smaller scale.”That made sense, having learnt from him Alana would have taken on some of his characteristics and preferences.

“Dr Woodward’s office,” Ah, so that was the person Alana had referred him to. Elijah Woodward had a remarkable likeness to Jack, it was no wonder their therapeutic duet hadn’t worked out. “Was stark and beige, guidance counsellors in school have tiny cupboard like rooms with barely any space for anything but filing cabinets and seats, at least in the schools I went to. My therapist's setup is brighter, warm, more practical with cupboards and a setup for online sessions, comfy chairs and a desk. This is a lot...more.”

“You mentioned your therapist before,” And Hannibal hadn’t liked the thought of someone else getting their grubby hands all over Will’s mind then either. “She might disapprove of what I’m doing with you.” Hannibal turned the paper of Will’s evaluation with his signature so he could see. “Congratulations, you are totally functional and more or less sane,  well done.”

“Wait, is that—? Did you just rubber stamp me?”

“Yes. Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn’t break you and our conversation can proceed, unobstructed by paperwork. “

“Jack wants  _ you  _ to be my therapist.” Will snorted, interrupting himself, “Well, no he doesn’t, the doctor-patient privilege would keep you from letting him in all our conversations. He wants you to help me stay ‘stable’ off the books so he can push me around however he wants and you tell him how to do that best.”

“You explore some very dark places when Jack sends you there, treading deep water. Perhaps I might act as a paddle to help you keep afloat.”

“My therapist would not approve at all,” Will smirked, an expression oddly unfamiliar on his face.

“Not fond of me usurping her job?”

“Nothing like that. She encourages independence.  _ My job is not to hold your hand, it is to help you form functioning coping mechanisms so you don’t need anyone to do so in the first place. _ ” It was fascinating to see how Will changed, taking on what Hannibal assumed to be his therapist’s persona. The dropped shoulder, the head tilt, even the way his mouth formed the words.

He could do the same with any killer, Hannibal realised and barely suppressed a shudder of delight. Would be able to see one of Hannibal’s tableaus and change his very being to wrap around the monstrous form of the Chesapeake Ripper, he realised, and Hannibal felt inspiration for a dinner party bloom. But before he began his plans he would need to ingratiate himself with the FBI, make himself indispensable and make sure to be there when Will saw his tableaus. 

“Being dependent is not the same as being supported. Perhaps I can be your support.”

“Can’t be a support if you’re my therapist.” Hannibal doubted he ever had the chance to, Will’s loyalty left no space for doubt.

“All we’re doing is having conversations.”

“I think I can do that.”

* * *

One through each eye, one through the nose, the rest making a holey smile, Will emptied the gun out and found Beverly right behind him.

“I’m sure firearm accuracy isn’t a prerequisite for a teaching job.”

“I tend to practise short term socialising at gun ranges.”

Beverly snorted, “Gun ranges are social occasions?”

“Well,” Will dropped into a Louisiana drawl, “when you're a southern kid it is.”

She laughed, “Didn’t think you were one for socialising.”

“I'm not, it was sort of homework for therapy so I chose an activity which also happens to help with field skills.”

Will pulled up another target, setting up to shoot again when Beverly leaned in again, “ “You’re a Weaver? I took you for an isosceles guy.”

“I have a rotator cuff issue so I have to use the weaver stance.”

“Bit tight, don’t you think?” It used to be a lot worse, but he had learnt to work with it better. The recoil made his shots inaccurate after the first one and he didn’t want that. 

“I got stabbed when I was a cop.”

“ Yeah, I got stabbed in the third grade with a number two pencil. Thought I was gonna get lead poisoning.”

“Uh, no lead in pencils; It’s graphite. Even if it was, Elizabeth made it work, I’m sure you’d do the same.” Will took the shots again, this time making a mickey mouse pattern.

“Cute.”

“So,  you come all the way down here to see me shoot?”

“No, Jack sent me to find out what you know about gardening.”

“Basil’s an easy plant to keep alive and dog friendly. That’s about it.”

“What do you know about mushrooms growing on people?”

* * *

A garden of mushrooms grown on a soil of decomposing people, not even a week after Garrett Jacob Hobbs was caught. The turnover rate of serial killers was getting faster. In the background he could hear Zeller and Price indulge in their usual dark humour as Will analysed the garden. He let the pendulum swing and  _ saw _ .

_ There is no need for bindings, no need to worry about him pushing the soil off and walking away from the shallow grave. He may be alive and might even stay that way for a long time but he would never gain consciousness again. He won’t be conscious again, he won’t know he’s dying.  _

_ I don’t need him to. _

A hand grasping at Will’s arm broke him out of his trance and he was annoyed. It seemed like everytime he was out in the field, letting the pendulum swing, he was interrupted. He had to see the design to its completion to get them to stop haunting him, why didn’t people understand that? 

He looked to see who had grabbed him like that and was surprised to find that one of the ‘corpses’ wasn’t a corpse yet. As quickly as the hand had grabbed him it let go and Will backed away, Price taking over.

He thought for sure they would have checked to see if any of them were alive when they saw the IV system.

They rushed to the man’s side trying to save his life and Will hid his annoyance. The design hadn’t been completed in his mind and if he didn’t see it through he would have this mushroom man intruding his thoughts again and again.

As he faked a state of shock Will wondered. Dr Lecter had given insight into Hobbs once already, perhaps he could help see the Mushroom man to completion.

* * *

Hannibal was surprised when Will called to make an appointment for a ‘conversation’. Will had expressed his willingness to talk to Hannibal in a non therapeutic relationship but hadn’t thought it would be so soon after the psychological evaluation.

But he did and soon after, Hannibal got another call from a new patient, a Miss Kimball, asking for a very specific appointment.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.”

Will smiled, “Yes well, there’s a new serial killer in town and I can always use a different perspective.”

“I was given to understand that your empathy was all the insight you needed.”

“It’s not quite like that. When I put myself in their place, I can see what they see, feel what they feel, think through their mind. But their reasons are a part of them that it’s  _ always  _ there and not something they actively think about.”

Hannibal stayed silent and waited. It didn’t take long before Will began to elaborate.

“Like with Hobbs I didn’t know exactly why he was killing those girls but I could feel this off feeling to it that wasn’t just the usual self satisfaction. But it wasn’t until that display in the field that was just the absolute negative of what he was feeling that I could articulate it. Until then it was just a sensation but then with the murder of Cassie Boyle, I could say in words that it was a shadow of the tainted love he felt for his daughter, that need to possess that was at the forefront of his mind when he killed those girls.”

“And Abigail?”

Hannibal wanted to see if Will could be goaded into caring for Abigail, if he didn’t already. Put on the pelt of Hobbs for a moment and come away with a paternal fondness for the girl that would make it easier for him to manipulate. Hannibal had been there with him after all, a shared experience to build their ‘relationship’ over would be useful.

But the bewilderment on Will’s face told him that he hadn’t thought about the girl at all. “What about her?”

“She might resent you for killing her father.”

“She has every right to.”

“If you have felt Garrett Jacob Hobb’s love then that might be a conflicting idea.” 

A chuckle left Will’s mouth, a sound he was sure Jack and Alan would deem to be unnatural, made odder by the lack of elaboration and complete change of subject. “I wanted to hear what you thought about our new killer.”

“May I ask why?” Could Will tell already what lay under Hannibal’s person suit, he wondered.

“Hearing a different point of view helps.” 

Hannibal considered that. He couldn’t gift him a murder so soon after the copycat so he would have to use his words instead. “The arms, I did wonder why he left them exposed. To hold their hands? To feel the life leaving their bodies?”

“ No, that’s too esoteric for someone who took the time to bury his victims in a straight line. He’s more practical. Besides, he never needed them to die.” That was interesting. Hannibal wondered what Will saw that told him that. “No restraints, nothing. They wouldn’t even have been in pain, he didn’t care to be cruel.” And Will had felt that, felt this mushroom killer’s apathy. How fascinating. 

“He was cultivating them.”

“He was keeping them alive, for a token sense of alive, feeding them intravenously.”

“But your farmer let his crops die. Save for the one that didn’t.”

“Well, and the one that didn’t, died on the way to the hospital. Though they weren’t crops. They were the fertilizer. The bodies were covered in fungus.”

“The structure of a fungus mirrors that of the human brain an intricate web of connections.”

A most beautiful look of revelation came over Will’s face and Hannibal felt a surge of pride at having put it there. “So, maybe he admires their ability to connect the way human minds can’t.”

“ _ Yours _ can.” 

Will laughed, a derisive sound. “Yep. Um yeah, not physically.”

“Is that what your farmer is looking for? Some sort of connection?”

“Could be. Maybe he wants them to connect to one another.” Will mused before changing the subject abruptly with a sigh. “They’re looking for the presence of any drugs but there was nothing but sugar water in the IV. What could keep people in a coma strong enough that they wouldn’t need to be restrained when put into a shallow grave and then a long process of being eaten away by fungus?”

From there their conversation took a more medical turn. Hannibal kept his immediate answer to the side, he suspected diabetic ketoacidosis, could smell it on Will under the dirt, compost and fungus smells. Instead, Hannibal talked of barbiturates and opiates, theorised about all types of innocuous poisons and addictions, and one by one Will shot them down. Too obvious, too complicated, too much work socialising etc etc, and with each idea he turned down, Hannibal could see the image of the mushroom killer grow clearer. The session grew close to an end far too quickly and even as Hannibal saw Will out, he lamented the loss of him. The next patient was the new one, a woman most insistent to get that time slot and while she was probably some amusing form of neurotic, she couldn’t possibly be even close to Will.

And then Hannibal opened the door to a very familiar redhead, pretending to be Ms Kimball and his day brightened. 

Freddie Lounds was unethical, tasteless and terribly rude but she was interesting and made for a wonderful note to end his workday on. He couldn’t wait to read whatever salacious article she was sure to write.

* * *

Induced diabetic ketoacidosis. A pharmacist or medical practitioner. Ten missing diabetics.

Breadcrumbs that led them to the wicked witch.

Those clues combined, had brought them to one Eldon Stammets and the minutes Will saw his picture, he  _ saw _ , and he knew that they had found their mushroom killer.

They moved out immediately with a strike team heading them up, arms up and ready while Zeller, Price and Beverly followed, armed with their own myriad of evidence bags.

As they moved through the store, Will slipped back into field mode, limbs pulled in, hand ready and hovering over his gun, feet quiet on the ground. Jack strode forward but Will kept his eyes on the strike team clearing the way for them and followed their lead inside, using nods and gestures to communicate with their leader.

He was laying groundwork for a much longer game.

Over the course of the last year of therapy, Will had learnt that it was okay to desire things, to be ambitious. It had accompanied a startling realisation that he had no ambition and his only desire, one he had cultivated along with his sense of self, was to continue to kill people as and when his design demanded it.

To accommodate that desire he had cultivated an ambition, the ambition to be a full fledged FBI agent and eventually be put in charge of his own case.

But as long as Jack Crawford was the head of the Behavioural Sciences unit that wouldn’t happen. Jack was convinced of Will’s instability and that his only utility was as a tool, to be used upon Jack’s own direction, not as a person.

So, Jack Crawford had to go. And the Shrike was going to be Will’s key to getting rid of him.

Jack hadn’t expected Louise Hobbs, mother of Abigail Hobbs to survive. He hadn’t expected Garrett Jacob Hobbs to consume his kills so thoroughly. Hadn’t expected it when Will found that long curly red hair in the cabin.

Jack was a man of action and terrible at  _ re _ acting. All Will had to do was to make sure Jack was constantly reacting,constantly under pressure, constantly kept off his feet while Will continued to make sure people saw him there as an option, a better one.

Eldon Stammets, Will was sure, wasn’t going to be there. He was agitated and hypervigilant, on his toes ever since his mushroom garden had been dug up. The slightest hint of something odd would have alerted him, and a strike team making their way through the store, no matter how discreet they tried to be, was sure to be one of them.

Soon, Will was proven right. They found Eldon Stammets had left the building just a few seconds past and Will mentioned the car, one he had already seen and noted before when they’d made their way in. It had reeked of compost.

The agitation Will had seen mounting on Jack drained away to a calm as they found the car still there, the woman in it, buried in dirt tucked away in the car’s trunk.

“We know his name, we have his address, we have his car.”

“Jack. We just checked the browser history at Stammets’ work station.”

“Am I gonna wanna hear this?”

“No. And yes, but mostly no.” Will suppressed a smile at Price’s flustered way of talking, putting a grave face on, the bearer of bad news. Judging by the nervous looks Price kept shooting at him whatever they’d found on the workstation was probably related to him.

It was. Freddie Lounds had written a terrible article all about Will accusing him of being a psychopath, before going into detail about his history with the FBI, while conveniently ignoring his excellent record as a homicide detective, cherry picking things from his past to make him look terrible. Will wondered if Freddie even had the slightest idea of how close she was to the truth. He still didn’t fit the criteria for a psychopath, or an antisocial personality disorder, he was just a man with a desire to kill that had developed the will to do so, that was all.

It was an amusing article, though Will didn’t let his amusement show. Besides, Jack’s frustration was much more amusing. As Beverly read the article, Jack banged his fists against the desk. The others avoided each others’ eyes, looking at the screen instead while Zeller…

Zeller watched Jack from the very corner of his eye with more than a little bit of fear.

Zeller, who disliked Will, was scared and threatened by him, did his absolute best to never talk to Will directly.

* * *

Will’s conversations with Hannibal Lecter helped Will in a way he couldn’t explain to others but he was still very aware that the man was a psychiatrist, even worse, a psychiatrist involved in the academia.

Those were the ones Will was most wary of, the ones whose priority was observation. He had to be careful around them they could never work with him as therapists, he was constantly on the defence, making sure he knew just how far in they were getting into his mind.

Will wanted him around, the man made for an excellent sounding board and as a former surgeon he had the stomach to hear and see more about the cases than others might. Some of the observations he made led Will to breakthroughs that would have been difficult without sinking further and further into the minds of the killers, without Will needing to _ see _ so much that he needed his lures to ground him again.

But Will’s wariness did not go away.

It was why he had yet another session with his therapist. Establishing boundaries, clarifying the role Hannibal would take in his life as a non therapeutic psychiatrist.

It was a productive session, a clarity in his mind as to the role Hannibal would take. He left her office feeling lighter than he had in days, only to be brought screeching down as his phone, now off the do not disturb mode started ringing, Jack Crawford’s name on the screen.

“ _ What took you so long?” _ Jack berated, as he always did and Will pushed the anger down, choosing to focus on the sounds coming through on the call instead. Wherever Jack was he was clearly surrounded by people, with a ton of noise being made all around.

“I was busy, what’s going on?”

“ _ We talked to Freddie Lounds, she said her source is some local detective pissed off that the FBI took over his case.” _

“She’s lying, you know that. Some of the stuff she knew had to come from an inside source, no way some local police would know half the things in that article, that’s from someone on the team and you know that.”

Jack turned silent at that, just as Will expected. He wanted Will working for him but didn’t want to suspect his team, especially not over what was just a negative article about Will, one that he probably agreed with.

“ _ I’m having the detective suspended for now. We’ll see what we can get from him.” _

Will cut the call instead of replying, all but smirking at the panic that was sure to induce in Jack. It was then that eh saw that Jack wasn’t the only one who had called him, Alana had as well. It was fairly late at night and Will didn’t really want to talk to her but the idea of his number being busy when Jack inevitably called again was kind of fun so he did.

“Alana? You called?”

“ _ Will!”  _ The sheer relief in her voice had Will interested.  _ “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?” _

“No, it’s fine, did you want something?”

“ _ It's Abigail Hobbs. She’s just come out of surgery, still sedated.” _

Will hadn’t thought of the girl, not except for a brief moment when Hannibal had asked about her during their conversation. He knew that while her father had missed all the arteries and anything life threatening he had done some damage to her larynx and she had to be operated on. The doctors had predicted that while she would be able to talk, she would sound different and the recovery would take months.

“That’s good.”

“ _ It is,”  _ She trailed off,  _ “Her mother’s here too and Jack was hoping you would talk to her.” _

“When have you ever done Jack’s bidding like this?”

“ _ It’s not just Jack. Before Abigail Hobbs went in I talked to her a bit, she mainly communicated with a notepad and...her mother seemed to be a bit wary of her. I’m afraid that if Abigail Hobbs wakes up to a hostile environment it might impact her recovery. You were there, and I was hoping your presence could ease some of it.” _

“Do you really?”

Because Hannibal hadn’t been wrong in saying that Abigail Hobbs probably resented Will for killing her father and Louise Hobbs might have done so as well. After all, they’d been living blissfully in ignorance until the moment Will stepped onto their property.

No, he didn’t see how his presence could improve things except-

“You want me to be the common enemy. Get them both on the same side, against me.”

“ _Will-”_ Alana started, plaintive and guilty all at once and he dismissed it.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning, it’s too late right now.”

His newest family member, Winston, had gotten used to the other dogs and this was to be his first night with the crate door open, Will had to be home for it. But barely eight hours later, he found himself in the hospital elevator on his way up when his phone rang, Jack’s name flashing on it once again. Will debated if he should pick up the call but finally answered it.

“Hello?”

_ “lt’s Jack. Are you at the hospital?” _

“Yes, I am.”

_ “Stammets knows about Abigail Hobbs.” _

“What about her?”

_ “He found Freddie Lounds and she told him everything, he told her he wants to help you connect to Abigail Hobbs by burying her.” _

And Will burst into field mode again. He all but ran to her room only to find her mother standing in the hallway, shoulder in a cast.

“Where’s Abigail?”

“They just wheeled her out to run some tests.”

“Who did?”

“This guy, he said he was the x-ray technician.”

“Pale, tall, glasses balding, kind of sad looking?”

“Yeah, why-?”

“Which way did he take her?”

Louise pointed down a hallway, hand shaking and tremors beginning to set in, worsening when Will took his gun out of it’s holster and began running off in that direction, “What’s going on?!” He could hear her yell but didn’t have the time to explain.

He found them quickly enough and it took a single shot to take Eldon Stammets down, straight to the shoulder, and then kicking the gun out of the man’s reach.

It had been so simple and routine that his heartbeat was barely up.

“What were you going to do to her?”

“We all evolved from mycelium. I’m simply reintroducing her to the concept.” He was calm, even though he’d been shot in the shoulder and it annoyed Will.

**“** By burying her alive?”

“The journalist said you understood me!”

"I don’t.”

"Well, you would have, _you would have_. If you walk through a field of mycelium, they know you are there, _they know you are there_. The spores reach for you as you walk by. I know who you’re reaching for, I know. Abigail Hobbs. And you should have let me plant her. You would have found her in a field, where she was finally able to reach back!”

Will sneered, “You’re projecting your failures to understand people on others. She can reach back if she wants. But  _ you _ , you’re the one who can’t. But you couldn’t bury yourself could you? Because you were afraid that your mycelium would be just as defective at reaching out as you are. With the mushroom gardens you could pretend.”

Eldon Stammets’ breaths grew faster and louder and he began to sob, his cries growing violently loud as he was taken away by the personnel flooding the hallway. Will finally took his eyes off the man and checked on Abigail, whose mother had rushed to her side, holding her hand. 

But he’d been caught just in the nick of time. Will’s own display was just a day form being discovered. He didn’t want Eldon Stammet’s antics to distract from it.

He’d done displays before but they’d been overshadowed by other murders and tableaus. He had thought it good at the time but now felt like a good time to make his mark, his metamorphosis complete, he had emerged from his cocoon a butterfly.

Yes, Will was glad they’d caught Eldon Stammets.

~~~~~

_ The Blight Killer: Exclusive pictures! _

_Article: This elderly couple was in for a shock when they went down to their serene lakehouse for a little getaway only to find a display by our brand spanking new killer! But the new kid on the block supposedly isn’t so new after all! Sources claim that he may have up to four murders under his belt, kept secret by the FBI, why is that I wonder?_ **Read more...**


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